"But there's nothing against the man, is there?"
Miss Leontine took down the handkerchief again--she had already
replaced it. "As regards his character, n-nothing. But he is a
manufacturer of tubs. It appears that it is the business of the family;
his father also manufactures them. In Connecticut."
"If Thomas Scotts should make a beautiful new tub for each of the Misses
Debbs, it wouldn't be a bad idea; there are twelve or fourteen of them,
aren't there?"
"Ner-nine," replied the afflicted maiden lady, with almost a convulsion
of grief. "But two of them are yer-young yet."
"And seven are not. Now seven new tubs."
"Cecilia, let us have no more of this," said the judge.
It was the first time he had spoken; Cicely put her hand behind her and
furtively pinched Eve's knee in token of triumph.
They came into the main street of Gary Hundred. It was a broad avenue,
wandering vaguely onward amid four rows of trees; there was no pavement;
the roadway was deeply covered with yellow sand; the spacious sidewalks
which bordered it were equally in a state of nature. The houses, at some
distance back from the street, were surrounded by large straggling
gardens. Farther down were the shops, each with its row of
hitching-posts across the front.
They left Miss Leontine at her own door, and went on towards the
residence of Cousin Sarah Cray.
"Here comes Miss Polly's bread-cart, on the way back from Mellons," said
Cicely. "Grandpa, wouldn't it be a good idea to buy some little cakes?"
The judge stopped the horse; Cicely beckoned to the old negro who was
wheeling the covered hand-cart along the sandy road. "Uncle Dan, have
you any cakes left?"
Uncle Dan touched his hat, and opened the lid of the cart; there,
reposing on snowy napkins, were biscuit and bread, and little cakes of
inviting aspect. While Cicely made her selection, Eve bent down and took
one of the circulars which were lying, neatly piled, in a corner. It
announced, not in print, but in delicate hand-writing, that at the
private bakery, number ten Queen Street, Gary Hundred, fresh bread,
biscuits, and rolls could be obtained daily; muffins, crumpets, and
plum-cake to order. The circular was signed "Mary Clementina Diana
Wingfield."
"They have names enough, those sisters," Eve commented. "Miss Leontine's
is Clotilda Leontine Elizabeth; I saw it in her prayer-book."
Cousin Sarah Cray's residence was a large white house, with verandas
encircling it both up stairs and down; the palings of the fence were
half gone, the whole place looked pillaged and open. The judge drove up
to the door and helped Cicely to descend; and then Eve, who had little
Jack, fast asleep, in her arms. Cicely motioned to Eve to go into the
house; she herself followed her grandfather as he led the horse round to
the stables. Eve went in, carrying Jack and the cakes. Cousin Sarah
Cray, hurrying down the stairs to meet her, took the child
affectionately. "Dear little fellow, he begins to look right rosy." She
was delighted with the cakes. "They will help out the tea be-u-tifully;
we've only got waffles."
Instead of going to her room, Eve took a seat at the window; she was
anxious about the judge.
"Miss Polly's cakes are always so light," pursued Cousin Sarah Cray,
looking at them; "she never makes a mistake, there's never the tinetiest
streak of heaviness in _her_ little pounds! And her breads are elegant,
too; when one sees her beautiful hands, one wonders how she can do all
the kneading."
"Does she do it herself?"
"Every single bit; their old Susannah only heats the oven. It was a
courageous idea, Miss Bruce, from the beginning; you know they are among
our best people, and, after the war, they found themselves left with
nothing in the world but their house. They could have kept school in it,
of course, for they are accomplished beyond everything; Miss Leontine
paints sweetly--she was educated in France. But there was no one to come
to the school; the girls, of course, could not afford to go away."
"You mean pupils?--to leave their homes and come here?"
"No, I mean the girls, Polly and Leontine; they could not open a school
anywhere else--in Charleston, for instance; they had not money enough."
"I beg your pardon--it was only that I did not recognize them as 'the
girls.'"
"Well, I suppose they really are not quite girls any longer," responded
Cousin Sarah Cray, thoughtfully. "Polly is forty-four and Leontine
fifty-two; but I reckon they will always be 'the girls' to us, even if
they're eighty," she added, laughing. "Well, Polly had this idea. And
she has been so successful--you can't think! Her bread-cart goes over to
Mellons every day of your life, as regularly as the clock. And they buy
a great deal."
"It's the camp, isn't it?--Camp Mellons?"
"No; it has always been Mellons, Mellons Post-office. The camp is near
there, and it has some Yankee name or other, I believe; but of course
you know, my dear, that _we_ never go there."
"You only sell them bread. I am glad, at least, that they buy Miss
Polly's. And does Miss Leontine help?"
"I fancy not. Dear Miss Leontine is not as practical as Miss Polly; she
has a soft poetical nature, and she makes beautiful afghans. But the
judge prefers Miss Polly."
"Does he really admire her?" said Eve, with a sudden inspiration.
"Beyond everything," answered Cousin Sarah Cray, clasping her plump
hands.
"Then will you please go out and tell him that she is coming here to
tea, that she will be here immediately?"
"Mercy! But she won't."
"Yes, she will; I will go and ask her. Do please make haste, Mrs. Cray;
we are so afraid, Cicely and I, that he will try to whip a negro."
"Mercy!" said Cousin Sarah Cray again, this time in alarm; stout as she
was, she ran swiftly through the hall and across the veranda, her cap
strings flying, and disappeared on the way to the stables.
Eve carried little Jack up-stairs, and gave him to Deely, the
house-maid; then, retracing her steps, she went out through the
side-gate, and up the street to the home of the Misses Wingfield. The
door stood open, Miss Polly was in the hall. She was a handsome woman,
vigorous, erect, with clear blue eyes, and thick sandy hair closely
braided round her well-shaped head. Eve explained her errand. "But
perhaps Miss Leontine told you?" she added.
"No, Lonny told me nothing; she went straight to her room. I noticed
that she had been crying; but she is so sweet that she cries rather
easily. Whip, indeed! _I'd_ rather shoot."
"We must keep the _judge_ from being whipped," Eve answered.
"Yes, I suppose so; he is an old man, though he doesn't look it. I will
go with you, of course. Or rather I will follow you in a few moments."
The post-office of Gary Hundred was opposite the Wingfield house; as Eve
crossed the broad street on her way back, the postmaster appeared at his
door, and beckoned to her mysteriously. He was a small elderly negro,
with a dignified manner; he wore blue goggles; Eve knew him slightly,
she had paid several visits to the office, and had been treated with
deferential attention. When she reached the sidewalk, therefore, she
paused.
"Would yer min' droppin' in fer one brief momen', miss? 'Portant
marter."
Eve stepped over the low sill of the small building--it was hardly more
than a shed, though smartly whitewashed, and adorned with bright green
blinds--and the postmaster immediately closed the door. He then
cautiously took from his desk a letter.
"Dere's sump'n' rudder quare 'bout dishyer letter, miss," he said,
glancing towards the window to see that no one was looking in. "Carn't
be too pertikler w'en it's guv'ment business; en so we 'lowed to ax de
favior ef you'd sorter glimpse yer eye ober it fer us."
"Read a letter?" said Eve. "Whose letter?"
"Not de letter, but him _outside_, miss. Whoms is it? Dat's de p'int. En
I wouldn't have you s'pose we 'ain't guv it our bes' cornsideration. We
knows de looks ob mos' ob 'em w'at comes yere; but dishyer one's
diffunt. Fuddermo', de stamp's diffunt too."
The postmaster's wife, a little yellow woman, was looking anxiously at
them from the small window in the partition of the real post-office, a
space six feet by three.
Eve took the letter. "It's an English stamp. And the name is plainly
written, 'Henry Barker, Esquire; Gary Hundred.'"
"No sech pusson yere. Dat's w'at I tol' Mister Cotesworth," said the
yellow woman, triumphantly.
"Do you mean to tell me that you cannot read?" said Eve, surveying
"Mister Cotesworth," with astonishment.
The government official had, for the moment, an abashed look. "We
'lowed," he began, "dat as you's fum de Norf--"
But his wife interrupted him. "He reads better'n mos', miss, Mister
Cotesworth does. But his eyes done got so bad lately--dat's w'at. Take
de letter, Mister Cotesworth, and doan' trouble de lady no mo'. Fine
wedder, miss." She came round and opened the door officiously; "seem lak
we 'ain't nebber see finer."
Miss Polly arrived at Cousin Sarah Cray's; she walked with apparent
carelessness round towards the stables, where the judge was
superintending the rubbing down and the feeding of the horse. A saddle
had been brought out, and was hanging on the fence; Cousin Sarah hovered
anxiously near.
"Grandpa is going out for a ride," explained Cicely. "But I told him
that the poor horse must be fed first, in common charity; he has been
so far already--to Bellington and back."
"Oh, but the judge is not going, now that I have come," said Miss Polly;
"he wouldn't be so uncivil." She went up to him; smiling winningly, she
put out her beautiful hand.
The judge was always gallant; he took the fair hand, and, bending his
head, deposited upon it a salute.
Miss Polly smiled still more graciously. "And is a stable-yard a place
for such courtesies, judge?" she said, in her rich voice, with her
luscious, indolent, Southern pronunciation. "Oh, surely not--surely not.
Let us go to Cousin Sarah Cray's parlor; I have something to tell you;
in fact, I came especially to see you." Looking very handsome and very
straight, she took his arm with a caressing touch.
The judge admired Miss Polly deeply.
And Miss Polly kept a firm hold upon his arm.
The judge yielded.